Survivor (9 page)

They had lit a fire on the beach and
fried sausages and bacon. The boys and Mariette had gambolled around in the sea
while Mog dozed on a blanket. Belle and Etienne had
built an impressive sandcastle which the children then
decorated with shells.

Fourteen- and fifteen-year-old boys are,
by their very nature, lacking in sentimentality. They had both tactlessly asked if
they could have Mariette’s room once she was gone. Alexis had said a few days
ago that he wouldn’t miss his sister sniping at him, or the rows she caused.
Noel was more interested in rugby and cricket than considering whether he would miss
her.

But they had both been less boisterous
and argumentative all day today, so perhaps they weren’t quite as keen to see
her go as their past cutting remarks would suggest.

‘This is what I’m going to
miss – next to all of you, of course,’ Mariette said, waving her hand at the
turquoise sea and the vivid green of the trees which grew right down to the
water’s edge. The small sandy beach was a secluded spot which she had always
liked to think no one but they knew about or came to.

‘There’s sea all around
England too,’ Mog said. ‘But, I have to say, it isn’t often blue,
mostly it’s grey and perishing cold. That’s why I never learned to
swim.’

‘But there are lovely things in
England that we don’t have here,’ Belle said. ‘There’re
castles, palaces and little villages that are far prettier than anything in New
Zealand. You are going to see shops in London that are so grand, you’ll think
you have to be someone important to go in them. There are trains that run
underground too. When Mog and I left London, there were far more horses than cars
and lorries, and few people had electricity in their homes, but all that’s
changed now. You won’t know yourself, switching on a light as easy as
anything, or turning on a tap and hot water coming out. When we stayed at the flat
Noah had at the end of the war, every room was warm because there was a big boiler
in the basement that heated radiators all over the building. I
expect the house he lives in now is just the same. And no
more going outside to the lavatory.’

Etienne started the engine and, as the
boat began to move out into deeper water, Mariette asked if everyone in England had
homes like Uncle Noah.

‘Sadly not,’ Belle said.
‘There are still a great many people living in what they call slums, with a
shared tap and privy out in the yard, but you won’t be going anywhere like
that. Uncle Noah lives in a lovely part of London.’

‘I want to see all of London, not
just the bits where the rich people live,’ Mariette said. ‘I want to go
to the part where you used to live when you were a girl.’

‘I expect Noah will take you to
see the Ram’s Head that my Garth used to own,’ Mog said. ‘The
house where we lived when your mum was a little girl burned down, but there’s
a big market for fruit, vegetables and flowers called Covent Garden nearby. I
don’t suppose that will have changed much since our day; the smell of the
flowers almost takes your breath away. It was your mum’s favourite
place.’

Just the thought of Mariette going to
Seven Dials made Belle feel anxious. She didn’t want her daughter to stumble
upon the darker truths about what life had once been like for her and Mog. Noah knew
it all, of course, and she knew he would never reveal it willingly. But what if
Mariette kept probing and he let something slip?

Mog caught her eye. As always, she was
quick to pick up on tension, and she was an expert on defusing it. ‘You
won’t think much of that part of London, it’s all a bit ramshackle and
dirty,’ she said. ‘But you’ll want to see Trafalgar Square and St
James’s Park, that’s all nearby. Then there’s the River Thames,
that’s a feast for the eye, so wide, so many boats. And the Tower of London,
where they used to lock up lords and ladies for treason, that’s just further
along.’

Belle breathed a
sigh of relief as Mariette got up and joined Etienne at the wheel. She just hoped
Noah was good at diverting conversations away from dangerous ground too.

Late that night, when Belle and Etienne
were in bed, she asked him if he was worried that Mariette would pester Noah for
more information about both of their pasts.

‘Why should she?’ Etienne
seemed surprised at the question. ‘At eighteen you think anyone over forty is
ancient and very dull. And even if she did ask him, he wouldn’t say anything
more than that he met me in Paris, where you were learning to make hats.
Noah’s smart, he’ll be very good at being vague.’

‘I do hope so,’ Belle
retorted.

Etienne gave her a sympathetic smile.
‘Maybe one day, when Mari is older and more worldly, we can tell her the whole
story, if she wants to hear it.’

Belle was satisfied that he knew best
and nestled into his arms. ‘It was a lovely day today. It was good to see Mari
larking about with Alexis and Noel. She seemed very carefree.’

‘And why shouldn’t she
be?’ he asked. ‘She’s about to embark on an adventure. We have to
trust her now to look after herself.’

‘I just wish I was certain she
will come back to us,’ Belle whispered. ‘Look at all the people we know
here whose sons and daughters have gone off to Australia, America or Europe and
never come back?’

‘If she finds happiness in England
and wants to stay there, then so be it,’ he said. ‘I’d sooner she
was away from us and happy than with us and unhappy. I’m sure you feel the
same?’

‘I suppose so,’ she sighed.
‘But I’m not going to think about that, it makes me feel too
sad.’

Mariette was glad when an announcement
was made asking all visitors not sailing on the SS
Rimutaka
to leave the
ship immediately. It hurt to see Mog and her papa so sad and emotional at her
leaving. She felt like breaking down and sobbing herself, but she knew that would
just make them feel even worse.

This morning at the guest house, when
she’d dressed in the yellow dress and its matching bolero jacket that Mog had
made for her, and secured the cheeky little yellow and white striped sateen and
tulle hat at a rakish angle on the side of her head, she’d felt like a
Hollywood film star. She even had new shoes with the latest Louis heel, and a trunk
full of new, exciting clothes. But a new wardrobe didn’t make up for leaving
her family; it would never give her the comfort and security her loved ones did.

‘You mind you behave
yourself,’ Mog said warningly, for about the twentieth time that day, as she
dabbed her eyes with a lace-trimmed hanky that was already sodden. ‘Or
I’ll come on over and give you what for.’

Mog enveloped her in a tight hug. As
always, she smelled of her lavender cologne – a smell Mariette would always
associate with home. Today had been the first time she had become aware that Mog was
getting old; it was a hot day, and she’d been breathless and hesitant in her
walking. As Mariette hugged her back, she thought how terrible it would be if Mog
died before she came home, and her eyes filled up with tears.

‘Don’t work so hard, Moggy,’ she managed to say. ‘It’s
time you sat back and had a rest.’

Mog held Mariette by the shoulders,
tears running down her cheeks as she looked at her. ‘Let me get one last good
look at you, my precious one,’ she said, her voice faltering with emotion.
‘You’ll be in my heart and in my prayers. Write to us all the time,
promise me?’

Mariette could only nod and turn to her
papa. To her shock, she saw that he too had tears in his eyes. He was so much taller
than her that she buried her face in his chest, and his hug almost crushed her.

‘I can’t find the right
words to tell you what you mean to me, Mari,’ he whispered. ‘All I can
say is it’s like the wind out on the bay when we race the dinghy, or landing a
huge marlin, or the first strawberries of the year. Now you must take full advantage
of this trip to England, and enjoy it. But think before you act, and listen to your
conscience. And come home safe to us, when you are ready.’

She felt rather than saw his kisses on
her cheeks, and the final squeeze of her hands, because her eyes were blinded with
tears.

Mog looked so small and vulnerable
supported by Papa as they went down the gangway to the wharf. Even Papa, whom she
had thought indestructible, seemed less sprightly and strong. Her whole being wanted
to run after them and say she couldn’t leave them, because she loved them too
much, but it was too late. The ship’s engine had started, the sailors were
removing the gangway, and they were about to cast off.

So she clung tightly to the rail and
waved, just one of 600 other passengers on a ship that was only three-quarters full.
Many of them were crying at leaving loved ones, others were very excited because
they were relishing a trip to England,
and
there were a few families who looked both poor and glum with no one to wave to. She
guessed these were people who had failed in New Zealand and decided to cut their
losses and go home. Strangely, it was these families she identified with most; she
guessed that, even now, in Russell there were those who would be gossiping about her
and reminding each other that her father had lost money on his vineyard enterprise
and his wife had been pregnant on their wedding day.

Saying goodbye to her mother and the
boys had been awful. Only Peggy and Don from the bakery came to see her off at the
jetty in Russell. Usually the whole town turned out for such occasions, and their
absence brought it home to her just how much she had disgraced herself and her
family. She could see her mother’s anxiety and sorrow etched into her face,
and although she tried very hard to appear jolly and happy for her daughter,
Mariette knew she would go home and cry. She wouldn’t even have her husband
and Mog there with her to comfort her. Even the boys looked sad, hugging and kissing
her without any prompting, and reminding her she was to send them postcards of every
place she went to.

Until now, as the ship moved slowly away
from the wharf, she hadn’t had the sense that she was really leaving New
Zealand – she’d half expected something would happen to prevent it – but this
was it now, the gap between her and land widening with every second. She waved even
more fiercely, even though she could no longer make out Mog or her father’s
features. All she could really see were their hats; Mog’s was navy blue,
trimmed with white ribbon, and her father was waving his panama with one hand and a
handkerchief with the other. In a few days it would be Christmas, and new tears
spilled over at the thought of her brothers opening their stockings without her
being there to share their excitement.

‘I’ll
be back,’ she vowed to herself. ‘Not with my tail between my legs but
successful and triumphant. You’ll see.’

The ship was picking up speed now and
the people on the wharf were barely visible. It was time to go and stow her things
away in the cabin she would be sharing with another single girl.

As she walked to the companionway that
led down to the cabin, Mariette struggled to compose herself. She was not going to
be a baby and cry, because the daydream she’d had for years of seeing the
world was a reality now. She was going to cross the equator, go from one hemisphere
to another, to the place her parents and Mog had talked about so often.

Of course, in her daydreams about such
an adventure, she’d always imagined having someone with her, not doing it
alone. She might have new clothes to wear, money to spend and people meeting her at
Southampton, but it was so very scary.

She managed to find her cabin easily as
her father had brought her down here when they first arrived at the ship. When she
saw how tiny it was – two bunks with just a couple of feet of space next to them –
she’d understood why she needed to pack clothes for the voyage in a small
suitcase and let her trunk go in the hold.

But, as she opened the cabin door, she
saw her cabin mate didn’t appear to know this, because the entire floor space
was strewn with clothes. Picking her way gingerly through the clothing, she saw a
dark-haired girl lying on the bottom bunk with her face buried in the pillow, and
crying.

‘Hello,’ she ventured.
‘I’m sharing with you.’

‘There isn’t room in here to
share, it’s no bigger than a coffin,’ the girl said, her face still
buried in the pillow and her voice muffled. ‘And I wish I was dead.’

Seeing another
girl prostrate with grief had a galvanizing effect on Mariette. As much as she could
easily have taken to her own bunk to cry at leaving home and family behind, she
thought the girl looked and sounded drippy, and she wasn’t going to copy
her.

‘That’s a daft thing to say
when we are less than a mile from land,’ Mariette said. ‘I’m sad
at leaving my family too, but there’s no point in wallowing.’

With that, the girl turned her head and
stared at Mariette with eyes that were red and swollen. She looked as if she was in
her mid twenties.

‘Who the hell are you to say
I’m wallowing?’ she asked aggressively.

‘Because your stuff is all over
the cabin, and it seems to me more sensible to put it away before you lie down and
feel sorry for yourself. I’ve got to share this cabin too.’

‘There isn’t enough room in
here for one person, let alone two. It’s not what I’m used to at
all.’

‘Well, it wouldn’t be – not
unless you’d spent your whole life on a ship.’ Mariette was beginning to
be irritated. ‘You’ll have to pack some of this stuff away and let the
steward put it in the hold, like I did.’

‘I need everything,’ the
girl said in alarm. ‘I’m not taking it anywhere.’

Mariette paused for a second. She
didn’t like the girl’s superior tone or even how she looked. She was
big, and her face was as mottled as corned beef. But she didn’t want to start
the voyage with a row.

‘What’s your name?’
she asked.

‘Stella Murgatroyd,’ she
said.

‘Well, I’m Mariette Carrera,
usually known as Mari. So, Stella, we’re in this cabin together for several
weeks. And, as you point out, there isn’t much room. That means we have to
be tidy. There’s a drawer under
each bunk, a very narrow cupboard to hang stuff in and two shelves. So you’d
better start stowing your stuff away, because otherwise I’ll be trampling on
it all as I unpack.’

‘Who the hell do you think you
are?’ Stella got up from the bunk and stood several inches taller than
Mariette, so close to her that her big breasts were almost touching her. ‘I
don’t expect a child to tell me what to do.’

‘Excuse me, you are the one
that’s behaving like a child,’ Mariette said with indignation.
‘And a very rude one at that. Put your case on your bunk, fold some of this
stuff up and put it back in.’ She bent down, picked up an armful of clothes
and dumped them on the bunk. ‘We’re getting off on the wrong foot here.
Just sort it all out, then perhaps we can go and get a cup of tea and make
friends.’

With that, the girl’s face
crumpled and she began to cry again. ‘You don’t understand,’ she
said through her tears. ‘I don’t want to go to England. But they made
me.’

Mariette was beginning to feel
claustrophobic in the small space; it was tempting to run out of the cabin and leave
this great blubbering lump to sort herself out. But her mother had always impressed
on her that she should help those smaller and less able than herself. The girl
certainly wasn’t smaller, but she looked incapable of doing anything for
herself.

‘Right, we’ll leave it all
for now,’ she said. ‘Wash your face and we’ll go and get some tea,
and you can tell me all about it. How’s that?’

Stella didn’t even know how to
pull down the folding washbasin; she just stared blankly until Mariette showed her
how it worked. She showed no signs of being able to find a face flannel, so Mariette
dampened the corner of a towel and wiped the girl’s face as she would have
done to her brothers.

‘That’s better,’ she said. ‘There might be some handsome
sailors around. You wouldn’t want them to see you with a blotchy face, would
you?’

In the saloon, an hour and two cups of
tea later, Mari had discovered the reason for Stella’s distress. She was
twenty-four, both her parents had died of Spanish flu in 1919, when she was five,
and she and her elder brother and sister had gone to live with their grandparents in
Wellington. When her grandfather died, he had left all three children some money.
Her brother and sister had gone off to England, leaving fifteen-year-old Stella with
her grandmother.

‘I was intending to go to England
and join them when I was twenty-one and got my money,’ Stella said. ‘But
Grandma got sick just before that, and I couldn’t very well leave her.
I’ve had nearly three years of doing everything for her, and it’s been
awful, I can’t even talk about how bad it was. But then she died a few months
ago, and instead of me being able to carry on living in her house and having a nice
life again, I found out she’d left the house and her money to my uncle, and he
wanted me out. He never did a thing for Grandma, hardly ever visited her, and he
didn’t give a damn about what would happen to me.’

Mariette viewed this story with a dose
of scepticism. From what Stella had said, her grandmother’s house was large,
with several servants, and so it was very unlikely she’d had sole care of her
sick grandmother. In the short while she’d known Stella she’d learned
enough to guess that the girl had led quite a privileged life. Perhaps her
grandmother felt that as Stella had already been left money by her grandfather, she
should build her own life, just as the other two siblings had done.

‘So you are going to join your
brother and sister in England then?’ she asked.

‘That was
my plan,’ Stella said. ‘But my brother wrote just a few days ago and
said that, although I can stay with him for a couple of weeks, I’ll have to
find a job and accommodation of my own. I don’t know how I’m going to do
that, I’ve never worked.’

Mariette tried hard not to smirk.
‘You could get a job as a housekeeper as you’ve experience of looking
after your grandma,’ she suggested.

‘Oh no, I couldn’t be
anyone’s servant,’ Stella said in horror. ‘I wasn’t brought
up for that.’

As Mariette made some small talk about
the ship and some of the other passengers she’d seen, she studied Stella. She
was no beauty, she had all the grace of a carthorse, and her duck-egg-blue dress,
though clearly good quality, was dowdy – more suited to someone of Mog’s age
than a girl of twenty-four. Her dark hair was fixed up in an untidy bun, but it was
very shiny, and she had pretty hazel eyes. Now that the red blotches on her face
were fading, Mariette could see she had a good, clear complexion too.

There was a brooch on Stella’s
dress that looked to Mariette like real sapphires and diamonds, not paste, and the
opal and diamond ring on her finger looked as if it had been passed down from her
grandmother. So her other clothes might be far nicer.

Mog had often said how much she liked
bringing out women’s real potential when she made clothes for them, and it
occurred to Mariette that on this long voyage she could do worse than pass the time
by turning this ugly duckling into, if not a swan, at least a more attractive
woman.

‘Well, Stella,’ she said,
‘we’re stuck with one another for six weeks. I think we should spend the
time improving ourselves, maybe learning new things or getting to know people who
are very different from us, but first we have to sort out the
cabin and your clothes. And as I’m good at clothes,
let me decide for you what needs to be packed away.’